


Minuetto

by blastitlouder



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastitlouder/pseuds/blastitlouder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In deep space, you're lucky if you find someone who listens to the same lame music as you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minuetto

**Author's Note:**

> Song in text can be located here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSE15tLBdso  
> Wrote this one a while back after I couldn't handle what MTMTE #9 did to me and my feelings. ;v; I was given the prompt "classical music" and a wild card character, so I just took it and ran with it.  
> Hopefully you'll enjoy!

Rung had been thoroughly surprised when Red Alert had walked into their appointment and informed him that he knew what music was playing in the background. Rung did not usually play musical tracks during sessions; it was less of a distraction and the silence encouraged most mechs to fill it with something, no matter how trivial it was. He did enjoy the strains of Earth music that he had collected over time to soothe and clear his processor between appointments. He hadn’t quite expected anyone to recognize them, however.

“Is that Luigi Boccherini’s Minuetto?”

“You know of Boccherini?” he queried, optics bright as Red Alert settled down in his chair across from the psychiatrist. The paranoid mech had already finished the sweep of his office, the time it took him greatly reduced as the sessions continued.

“I was on Earth for a long time, Rung,” Red Alert replied, settling in and projecting an air of relaxation, which meant it would be another ten minutes before he actually settled down and felt somewhat safe. “Music was particularly hard to avoid with Jazz in such close vicinity.”

“Of course,” Rung replied, servo moving to switch off the audio player.

“You can leave that on, if you like,” Red Alert said, interrupting Rung’s motion with a shake of his helm. “I don’t mind it. It’s rather soothing.” Smiling, Rung retracted his servo and placed it in his lap.

“I should have figured you were a classical sort of mech.”

“It’s…” Red Alert made a small gesture, optics dimming a little. “It isn’t obnoxious and I read a study once insisting that playing it helped human cognitive growth.”

“Really? How fascinating.” Rung wondered if that were true. He would have to research it himself later. “How did you come across the genre? It doesn’t seem like something you’d investigate for entertainment.” The “investigate for secret messages and archaic coding” went silent.

“It was Blaster’s fault, actually,” the security director remarked. “He had been turning his music up to phenomenally loud proportions to try and drown out my microphones.” He shrugged, expression mild. “It didn’t do much to block me out, but I could only take so many repetitions of Cold Slither before I glitched.”

“Oh goodness,” Rung murmured, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “You didn’t glitch, did you?” Red Alert waved his servo again, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth at the memory.

“No, but Blaster received a pretty strongly worded memo that if he was going to keep playing music to drown himself out, he could at least play something tolerable.”

“And exactly how much blackmail was filtered into the memo?” Rung teased, already knowing the answer.

“What blackmail?” came the blithe reply. Translated to layman’s Cybertronian, it meant “enough”. Rung’s smile increased as he leaned back into his seat, fingers steepling.

“So he started playing classical music?”

“A lot of different instrumental music, to be precise.” Red Alert’s left leg stretched out a little and Rung felt his smile widen a little more; the ten minute mark had been reached. “But I tended to enjoy the colloquial “classical” pieces better than the contemporary.” The mech leaned forward a little, a crease of a genuine smile flittering on his faceplates. “Sometimes, I’d look up the tracks to help myself recharge.”

“Did that work at all?” Rung’s optics brightened a little, recalling how Red Alert had confessed how lightly he rested in recharge.

“Only if I doubled the alarms on the door,” he confessed, rolling his shoulder as he sat back again. Rung held onto the small noise of disappointment. Red Alert’s healthy recharge schedule, specifically the utter lack of one, was something he had been hoping to improve.

“Strangely enough, I used to sleep better during the war,” Red Alert remarked, catching the therapist off guard.

“You don’t say,” he mused, processor already wracking everything he knew about the mech before him to deduce a reason why such a phenomenon could occur for the paranoid mech. “Do you have any idea why?”

“Oh, of course,” Red Alert replied, his tone flippant. “I had a roommate.” Rung’s gears chirped in surprise.

“You trusted someone that much?”

“It was Inferno. While he and I weren’t always so close, he had proven himself time and time again to be looking after my best interests, or what he thought they were.” A fond expression flittered across his visage before vanishing again. “While he was not such a light sleeper as I am, he was back-up for whenever someone decided it was time for me to expire. If he was there, I could play a little bit of music too.”

He amended his statement with an expected “very quietly, you know, so no one could sneak in on us” and Rung nodded accordingly, feeling as though he had found a solution.

“That’s wonderful though,” he replied, his own frame leaning forward with a bit of excitement. “Do you think you’d recharge easier if we could find you a roommate for your hab suite?” Red Alert seemed taken aback by the suggestion, his horns twitching in thought.

“I…suppose?” he conceded, fingers starting to tap against his chair as he started running all of the disastrous possibilities through his mind. “Inferno decided not to travel with us though. Removing all the mechs I _know_ to be conspiring against me, the ones I lack proof for, and the mechs who have yet to show their hands…” His optics flickered a few times, his gaze returning to Rung’s once he had completed his analysis. “That would limit my options to you.”

If Rung had developed his self-control any less, he may have genuinely reared back in his seat from the surprise. As it were, the revelation had forced him to reboot his optics, his entire frame stiffening for a moment.

“M-Me?” he squeaked, optics bright beyond reason. Red Alert fell silent, his expression falling into a poker face as he awaited Rung’s response. The rest of his words were silent, the implication rattling around the psychiatrist’s processor as his frame relaxed enough to sink back into his chair.

 _I trust you_.

Rung hardly had to think on it. Red Alert’s health was a priority and if going through a few—or twenty—extra security checks to be allowed to recharge was all he had to do to help ensure an improvement, he would hardly complain. Besides, living with the security director had its advantages; he was good company, he was reasonable in his paranoia—or at least, Rung considered him reasonable in comparison to his earlier status—and he wouldn’t have any objections to the “lame” music Rung favored. Perhaps, he wondered with a tint of humor, living with paranoia incarnate would help to relieve the jinx he was starting to develop.

“If you would not be adverse to it,” he responded, hoping he had not taken too long with his reflection. “I would be more than willing to room with you.” Red Alert’s expression softened, but the most telling indication of his relief was the immediate cessation of his fingers’ drum solo. If Rung paid close attention, and he always did with Red Alert, he could catch the minute clench of the security director’s jaw relaxing away.

“I’ve updated my security checks since you last paid me a house call,” Red Alert warned. Rung nodded, returning his fingers to their steepled position.

“I’m not surprised, considering the sort of shenanigans we’ve been getting into since we launched,” Rung admitted. “How many protocols is it now?” Red Alert didn’t miss a beat.

“Thirty-eight. Fifty-fifty split of physical and mental testing.”

Rung’s eyebrows shot at high as they could go. His last visit had been a mere set of twenty protocols. He would have to make a note of the change for later.

“…I think I could handle an extra eighteen.”

Red Alert smiled, the first genuine and full expression since the session had started.

“We’ll see, Rung.”


End file.
